Come On Get Higher
by stereolovur
Summary: JONAS, Apples, cinnamon and coffee. That's what he smells like.


**Hey party people. Sorry I haven't been able to update on the site for the longest time, but school is really eating up my time as of late, so I hope this little one-shot will make up for it a little. I honestly think it's just crap stuffed and translated into words, but I'd appreciate it if it would be read and reviewed. I apologize if it can be a little vague, because I really had no clear idea of where I was going with this; I just needed to write something. **

**I don't own JONAS or JONAS LA, but if I did, I probably would've made this kind of plot happen, because you know, majority of us want it. Disney is way too G-rated for my liking. **

Apples, cinnamon, and coffee. That's what he smells like.

I pull his shirt even closer to my figure, relishing the warmth of the thick, comfortable fabric of the red, blue, and white flannel long-sleeved polo against my bare skin, my fingers fumbling with the buttons slightly. He always had a penchant for plaid, something I could never really relate to, but I still find unbelievably endearing, as he always somehow makes it look good.

He makes everything shine just a little brighter.

I observe how the sleeves hang well past my hands, how it seems to make my uncovered legs look even longer than they really are, how the cloth drapes over my form loosely, and how it exudes the familiar, wonderfully reassuring scent that is him.

Apples, because it's his favorite fruit. Cinnamon, because he likes to add that warmth to everything, claiming that anything will taste better with it. Coffee, because he could never last a day without having even just a cup.

Apples, cinnamon, and coffee. Things I associate with love.

I lie back down, press my cheek even deeper into the pillow, and curl up into a ball, trying to take as little space in the bed as possible, my hands wandering around and scrunching up the cotton blanket as I go along. I can't help but let out a giggle, albeit, a faint, short one, but it was a giggle, as I remember how a small peck on the cheek ended up being a little less innocent. He was gentle with me, but I remember being a little more excited. He was tender, incredibly delicate, but I think I was a little overwrought.

It's not like this is something that either of us will forget.

The way his merest touch made my skin tingle, the way he blew on me every now and then just to make me laugh whenever I would go a little on edge, his comforting, loving words whispered into my ears, his soft, wonderful kisses all over; it could not have been better. His mouth tasted of a reassuring, warm apple pie, but I could've sworn I had gotten a hint of the cinnamon Frappucino he loved so much, and if I'm not wrong, Diet Coke. He tells me that I taste like strawberries and a sort of weird mix of coconut and pineapple, "like a really addicting pina colada," he stated with a smile. His hands weaving themselves through my wavy hair, and mine twisting around in his locks, his nose tickling my jaw, my palm against his cheek. It's all very vivid.

And his eyes.

Never have I seen anything more genuine and honest. The usually serious, profound and mysteriously dark brown orbs, though they are not any less brilliant, took in a different form last night. I don't think I have ever seen them with that kind of luster before, it shown with such sincerity and love, something definitely not rare, but I have not seen it reach that sort of extent. It was almost as if I was looking at a completely different person.

I wasn't looking at the tough, stern workaholic I had loved for over three years.

This man was soft.

"Mace? You okay?"

"Hmm?," I mumble, the foreign voice hurtling me back to reality. I look up, and see _him _standing by the doorway, dressed only in boxers, and a tray in his hands, piled with what must be the contents of his entire refrigerator. "Yeah, I'm fine, Nick."

"More than fine, if I can say anything about it," he laughs a little, watching me sit up on his bed, tucking one leg under the other as I continue to brush my hair away from my face. He comes a little closer, laying the tray in front of me. I peruse over the many, many items crammed there, and look up, expecting to see his face staring back at me, but instead, I feel his arms encircling around me, pulling me closer so my back was against his naked chest, one hand rubbing my cloth-covered arm gently, the other planted firmly on my thigh.

"Slept well?," he asks, planting a kiss on my temple, then resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Well," I reply, shivering slightly because his lips are pressed unto my neck, "I actually don't remember sleeping."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, I think it might be because of you," I reply, shrugging slightly.

"It's my fault?," he asks, taking a quick look at me, "how exactly did I not let you sleep? Do I snore, or something?"

"No, you were actually pretty silent," I say, slumping a little so that my head was laying on his chest, and my legs curled up against his, "it was more of this distraction," I say, before nudging a finger against his bicep.

"I'd like to think that's a pretty good distraction," he says, and though I can't really get a good look of him right now, I know he has a smirk on his face. I turn around in his arms, and even before I can take a little glance, he immediately plants his lips on top of mine, completely rendering me speechless.

I note how warm they are, and how they taste of freshly-brewed coffee, and yet, I cannot focus on much anything else. His left hand pulling me closer by my waist, his right pressed on my cheek, things I can somewhat remember from last night repeat themselves, as my own hands try to find the buttons on the shirt he was wearing, my fingers running down his torso, but it comes to mind a moment later that there was none on him.

"Wait," I say, pulling away reluctantly before I cover my nose, letting out a small sneeze. "Don't laugh," I say sheepishly when he starts to chuckle, trying to drown out the sound with his hand.

"Since when were you allergic to me?," he says, not being able to hold in his laughter as he cups my face, pulling me closer to peck on my forehead.

"I'm not," I reply, my voice slightly muffled as my hands are still hiding the bottom half of my face, "I'm allergic to Joe's perfume."

"Oh," he says, sniffing his wrist quickly before continuing, "I'll never borrow it again, then. No wonder you can hardly ever stand next to him."

I don't respond. Instead, I emit another tiny sneeze, to which he answers to with a tissue from his bedside table.

That's when I remember.

"What do I smell like?"

"Huh?," he says, looking a little stunned at the question.

"What do I smell like?," I repeat simply, wiping my nose.

"Um," he starts out, not succeeding in his attempt to cover up his amusement, "Princess, by Vera Wang-"

"I mean it," I say, punching his shoulder lightly.

He chuckles again, before going on to wrap his arms around me, pulling me unto his lap, and then tilts his face up to take a whiff of me. "Are you looking for something specific?," he asks, hands tightly bound around my waist, leaving no space between our bodies as he digs into my hair.

"Yes, please," I reply, shifting a little so that my side was pressed unto him.

"Well, you smell like my shirt," he comments, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Other than that."

"Hmm," he begins, closing his eyes as he tickles my jaw with the tip of his nose, "kinda like mint."

"Really?," I say, giving him a little glance, but he doesn't look up.

"Uh huh," he said, finding his way over to my locks, "that's not really a surprise, because you keep on stealing my sugar free gum-"

"But," I try to start out, but he gives me a look, so I shyly mumble out, "okay…"

"But from here, I get a hint of vanilla," he says, nudging slightly at my ear, "I think it's the shampoo." He trails down, leaving a small kiss on my neck as he breathes in the scent from the area where my neck met my shoulder, remarking a moment later, "but then again, it's flowers over here."

"Huh," I mutter discreetly, unaware for a minute that he was pulling at the collar of the shirt, trying to gain more access to my skin, and peppering faint little kisses all over. "Do you like it?"

He draws away long enough to look at me, grinning, "more than," and he proceeds to press his lips against mine again.

I pull away a second later, much to his disappointment, and I ask him, "you failed Spanish in high school, right-"

"Don't remind me of that, Mace," he says, bowing his head at the only class he did not succeed to get top honors in back then.

"No, I mean, I think you would know this," I tell him, giggling quietly. I lean in, close enough just to brush my lips over his ear, and I murmur, "_te quiero." _

"Oh," he mumbles, but with a smile on his face, "well, I love you too."

He kisses me again, with full force, and I don't shove him away this time, and instead, I'm laughing along with him as he pushes me gently back down on to the bed.

**Hahahahahaha…I am the epitome of ambiguity. What was that all about? :)) Well, I personally found it enjoyable. Hope you did too.**

**Review, my dears. **


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